The Art of Misdirection
by a.lesser.saint
Summary: Post-episode 7.19. Dean visits Cas at the institution, and several incompatible schemes are set in motion as Castiel attempts to beat Lucifer at his own game.


Title: The Art of Misdirection  
Summary: Post-episode 7.19 (Of Grave Importance). Dean visits Cas at the institution, and several incompatible schemes are set in motion as Castiel attempts to beat Lucifer at his own game.  
AN: Not related to anything in the upcoming episode 7.21, as far as I know. I first wrote this prior to Bobby's "return," but I did later retrofit it to include him for continuity's sake. The story's mostly just Dean and Cas, though.  
Warnings: Some profanity, naturally. There's a bit of a Destial tease, but you can interpret it in any way that you wish.  
Additional warning: This is a one-shot, but the story basically ends in a cliffhanger. If you prefer your stories with a definitive conclusion, you might want to skip this one. There may be a follow-up, if I manage to stay motivated and finish it.  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. The reality show mentioned is fictional.

* * *

The Winchester brothers, along with a spectral Bobby, traveled down a southern highway in a rare but comfortable silence. After spending several nights hunting a particularly clever and loud banshee through an Alabama swamp, a bit of quiet was welcome, even to Dean.

So it was with an aggravated sigh that he fished out his cellphone when it blared to signal an incoming call. The aggravation only increased once he saw the caller ID. He punched a button ferociously to answer.

"What do you want, Meg?" he grumbled.

"Well, hello there, cowboy. I missed hearing your voice, too," the demon's voice purred.

"Meg. What. Do. You. Want."

Meg dropped the pretense. "Really, Dean, it's more about what I thought you wanted. You did instruct me repeatedly to call you when your favorite Precious Moments figurine resurfaced from his stupor, didn't you? But if I'm just wasting _both_ of our time, then I guess—"

"Cas is awake? And, like, coherent?" Dean sat up straighter in the passenger seat, meeting Sam's curious eyes briefly. Bobby flickered into the visible spectrum in the backseat, eyebrows raised toward his hat brim.

"He's up and about. And capable of conversation… well, nearly as capable as usual, which admittedly isn't saying much compared to actual people." Meg's eyeroll was palpable even through the phone.

"If we drive all night, we can be there tomorrow afternoon." Dean checked for Sam's nod of confirmation.

"No rush. Not _that _much of one, anyway," Meg commented, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Dean bristled, "What the hell does that mean?"

Meg gave a breezy laugh. "Oh, nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about. It's just that Castiel and Lucifer seem to have come to an understanding."

"Yeah, now I'm definitely worried. We'll be there early tomorrow afternoon." Dean flipped the phone shut and gestured to a gas station at the top of the next hill. "Pull in there, Sam. We need to fill up, then I'm gonna drive for now."

* * *

Sam and Dean drove through the night, taking turns driving and sleeping. However, due to hitting heavy traffic caused by a multiple-vehicle accident, they didn't arrive at the institution's gate until late afternoon the following day.

As Dean roared up the long curving driveway, scaring the heck out of several squirrels and one doctor chatting on a cellphone, Sam questioned the wisdom of his return to the institution. Dean had practically strong-armed his brother's release following the Lucifer-swap, and Sam was understandably wary of being recognized and re-admitted against his will. Dean didn't feel like wasting more time with an argument, so he indulged Sam's paranoia and left him in the car with Bobby, but not without cracking the window sarcastically.

Upon entering the lobby, Dean signed in at the desk and sauntered toward the line to go through security. The guard, thankfully, was not one he'd encountered on his last visit; instead it was a young man with the remnants of an acne breakout on his face and bored eyes. The guard shuffled an elderly man through with barely a glance, then took an inordinate amount of time inspecting the twenty-something woman in the kitten heels and heavy makeup that, to Dean's trained eye, would grant her falsely attractive looks in certain lights. In his opinion, however, the bright florescent of the lobby was not one of those flattering lighting arrangements.

Dean was about to burst with impatience when the guard finally guided the woman through with a hand placed inappropriately low on her back. Dean quickly dumped his wallet into the basket and stepped through the metal detector, growling mentally when it beeped in alert. The guard lazily ran his hand-held detector in front of Dean's body, stopping once he got another alert near Dean's torso. Dean hopefully pulled his cellphone from his jacket pocket and showed it to the guard, adopting a sheepish expression. The younger man rolled his eyes and waved Dean along. The hunter grabbed his wallet and went.

As he bypassed the throng awaiting the elevator and walked to the stairs, Dean replaced all his items in their respective pockets and also checked on the silver flask he had secreted in his jacket. The flask was his own, as he had relinquished custody of Bobby's flask to Sam, not feeling right about using it with the old man actually there and watching him critically.

Dean arrived on the second floor and walked into the lounge area, immediately honing in on the dark-haired figure in white sitting neatly on a couch in front of a large-screen television. He walked over and sat down next to his friend, peering anxiously at his face. Castiel, however, did not even acknowledge that he had company, seemingly engrossed by the television program.

Dean sighed internally and slumped back into the cushions. He looked to see what was holding the angel's attention so fully. It was a rerun of a newer reality show with the ludicrous name _'Making Magic Happen,_' featuring wannabe magicians competing to see who was the biggest dork or something. None of these guys were fit to feed the Incredible Jay's bunny, from the small amount that Dean had seen of the program.

The show's host faked an impressed smile for the audience and introduced the next contestant, a middle-aged man in a tacky gold cape embossed with bogus occult symbols. The magician awkwardly bantered with the in-studio audience and appropriated a cheap watch from a thrilled-looking man in the second row. Dean watched tiredly, unable to muster up any enthusiasm even for the well-built blonde in a skintight, purple cat-suit doing her best Vanna White impression in the background.

A minute later, Castiel unexpectedly broke the silence. "He appeared to smash the handkerchief quite thoroughly. How did the timepiece not sustain damage?"

Dean jumped a little, then turned quickly to face his friend. "Cas?"

"Dean," Castiel replied simply, shifting his intent gaze to his visitor.

"So… how are you doing?" Dean asked after a moment, figuring that was a good place to start the conversation.

"Perplexed. The man with the shiny sheet down his back appears to be performing magic in public. Isn't that foolish, to provoke the hunters in such a way? Is this man truly a witch?" Castiel asked, head tilting slightly.

"I doubt it. He's a pretty piss-poor magician, really," the hunter scoffed.

Castiel gave him an affronted look, seeming to disagree regarding the man's abilities.

Dean smiled, oddly pleased by the opportunity to educate the clueless angel once again. "Look, Cas, he's just a stage magician. It's all a trick; they call it misdirection. He distracts the audience with the hot assistant and all that flamboyant hand-waving, then he hides the watch up his sleeve. The idea with misdirection is that nobody's supposed to pay attention to what he's actually doing."

"I see. Is the hot assistant always necessary?" Castiel asked.

"Well, it never hurts, in my opinion," Dean replied with a snort.

Castiel mused, "Misdirection. That's an interesting idea."

Dean smiled indulgently. "Sure, okay. So how are you, really? How are things in the old melon?"

"I don't possess a melon, Dean. We are not permitted to do gardening here," Castiel stated, as if explaining to a small child.

Dean sighed audibly, "Melon means head, Cas. I was asking how your head is. Is Luci still squatting up there?"

Cas thought it over. "Sometimes he stands, one time he tried to cuddle with me, but mostly he sits on whatever surface is available. There is very little squatting."

"Oh, for— Wait, cuddle… ugh, I hope you kicked his ass. So he's still around then, I guess. Is Lucifer here now?" Dean asked, looking around suspiciously as though he might spy the fallen angel.

Castiel responded, "He seemed to get bored and retreat during the contest where people were guessing the price of items. I'm never quite certain, though."

"Retreat to where?"

"To the Cage, he says," Castiel answered.

"You mean he's really there? In your head, I mean. It's not hallucinations or brain damage or whatever?" Dean asked.

"Somehow Lucifer managed to attach a small piece of his grace to Sam's soul. That or when Death took the soul away from him a piece inadvertently broke off with it, and Lucifer decided to use the situation for his own entertainment."

Dean frowned. "It's like a stowaway?"

Castiel considered this, then clarified, "More like a parasite. I was able to transfer its attachment from Sam's soul to my grace, but I can't vanquish it entirely, at least not through ordinary means."

Dean didn't like that answer and turned away slightly with a grumble, shifting so that his back was toward the doorway where the staff lingered. He then pulled his flask out of his jacket and took a quick swallow. When he noticed Castiel eying him, he stubbornly took a second, longer draught.

Castiel carefully watched him put the flask away, then commented, "I believe that it would be much more useful if you filled that container with holy water."

Dean pivoted back to face Castiel, a sarcastic retort dying on his lips at the intense look that the angel was giving him. He stared helplessly into Castiel's eyes, feeling as though something important was being silently telegraphed but unable to translate it.

Their stare-off was interrupted when a female official in a poorly fitting suit jacket and skirt coughed for the room's attention and loudly announced that visiting hours would conclude in five minutes.

Dean decided it was time to bring up the topic he had been avoiding. "Meg said you and Big Brother came to some sort of an agreement. What's that about?"

"He has offered to pursue a path that will grant both of us our freedom from this plane of existence."

Dean scowled. "What the shit does that mean? That doesn't sound good."

"It means our release from this vessel," Castiel explained unhelpfully.

"So… what? Jimmy gets destroyed once and for all?" Dean asked.

"Jimmy Novak is already departed from this plane, Dean. He can no longer be harmed."

"What about you? What happens when you get released from this vessel?" Dean persisted, a knot forming in his gut at his friend's evasiveness.

"I am unsure. Typically, most angels are not seen again once they've… been released in this manner."

Dean pondered that for a moment but could only reach one conclusion. "Death. You're talking about death! You're talking about killing yourself? Are you kidding me? Cas, we'll find some way to fix this and get Lucifer outta your head. We just need some time, that's all."

"Time that you don't have because you are occupied with stopping the Leviathans. The Leviathans that are taking over the world, because I gave them freedom. Dean, I've been watching the reports on the television these past few days; I've seen what is happening."

"Yeah, okay. And what? You still think that you deserve to die? Trust me, I know that feeling, but the better choice is to try and make your life _mean _something. You're more use to us alive than dead, Cas!"

"I will be of no use to anyone if my being is assimilated by Lucifer." Castiel paused, then continued in a softer tone, "Dean, I can't endure an eternity like the past few months. I know that I cannot."

"Just a little while longer. Cas, I swear we'll fix this," Dean promised, while a voice in the back of his head questioned the plausibility of such a result.

Castiel also seemed to doubt it. "It's too late. Meg has arranged for me to perform the ritual tomorrow. I was only able to delay until your arrival."

Dean exploded again, "Tomorrow! Do you even know for sure what will happen? Lucifer's the freaking father of lies, and he's trapped in the Cage with Michael. It seems to me that he would be thrilled to check out of there for a while, even if it's just mentally."

Castiel pulled one of the couch's throw pillow into his lap and held it almost nervously in his hands. "I have considered that. He was strangely gleeful when I acquiesced to his request, so I suspect that he does have other intentions. The most probable is that he means to seize control of this vessel for himself."

"So then you'll be gone and we'll be left with Lucifer walking the Earth in a Jimmy-suit? How is that a good plan?" Dean asked angrily.

"It is not. However, Lucifer has never been particularly subtle. If that's the case, he will surely reveal his intentions prior to the event, and I can simply end the process at that time." Castiel tightened his grip on the pillow.

"But Lucifer is an archangel and, you know, the freaking _Devil himself. _Do you really think that you can handle him?"

Castiel replied calmly yet was practically clutching the pillow like a teddy bear by this point. "It is only a small piece of his grace, so I should be able to subdue him. Or there may be another way."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "What other way? I'm almost scared to ask what your next brilliant idea is."

The female employee who had announced the impending closing time earlier suddenly tapped Dean on the shoulder, causing him to jerk and almost reach for a weapon, which he had luckily left in the car.

The woman smiled politely. "Sorry, sir, but visiting hours are over, and it's time for the residents to have their evening meal. I have to ask you to leave."

Dean dismissed her. "Not yet. I'm not going anywhere until I talk some sense into this idiot."

The woman smoothed her hands over her jacket, trying to exert her authority. "Sir, the rules are in place for a reason. Not to mention the fact that you are disturbing several of the residents with your loud and… unusual conversation. I really must insist that you leave. Now." She gestured to several burly male orderlies near the door, and they swaggered toward the couch confidently.

Dean sized up the orderlies and noted that they ran more to fat than muscle, so he gave himself pretty good odds. He tensed for a fight.

Castiel then interjected quietly, "I apologize, but my friend is slightly upset right now. If I may have another two minutes with him, he will leave peaceably."

The woman glanced at Castiel, and her expression softened, "Two more minutes. Then he really needs to go."

"I understand, thank you," Castiel nodded.

The official called off the orderlies and moved away to assist other patients, with one last wary look at Dean.

"Cas—" the hunter began.

Castiel tossed the throw pillow to the side and sat up straighter. "No, Dean, there is no more time to discuss this. I must ask you for a favor now. I need you to come tomorrow. The materials for the ritual will be at a former cosmetics factory on the western edge of this town, on a road called Ashbury. I intend to transport myself there at dawn. Meg believes the ritual will take place in the afternoon, so she will hopefully not be able to interfere."

"I don't think—" Dean began.

Castiel interrupted, "I wouldn't ask if it were not necessary."

"Of course I'll come. Sam and Bobby, too. But, seriously, Cas—"

"Thank you. I believe that your presence will be useful." At that, Castiel rose to his feet and walked docilely toward the hallway that led to the patient's rooms.

Dean stared after him, his forehead creased with annoyance and worry.

* * *

After leaving the institution, the Winchesters drove to the nearest motel and checked in. Dean gave an overview of his conversation with Cas, and the three laboriously discussed Castiel's suicidal plan but got nowhere in the end. Afterwards, Sam and a concealed Bobby went out for supplies, while Dean settled into their room. As it turned out, 'settling in' largely consisted of sitting at the scarred wooden table and stewing about Cas.

Frustrated, Dean reached for his flask, then frowned as he jiggled it to discover that it was empty. He tugged his duffle bag closer and pulled out a half-empty bottle of liquor. He laid everything out on the tabletop and paused, his mind wandering.

"More useful," he muttered, before standing and moving to another bag in the corner. He removed a bottle filled with a clear liquid and carried it, along with the flask, over to the sink in the attached bathroom. The flask was quickly rinsed and filled and tucked away. Dean met his own eyes in the mottled mirror above the sink and shrugged self-consciously.

* * *

Just before daybreak the next day, the Winchesters and Bobby pulled into the quickly filling up parking lot of a business down the street and walked to the designated abandoned factory. They had scoped out the place the previous evening, familiarizing themselves with the neighborhood and ensuring that the building was accessible. Sam had found a small doorway around the corner from the main entrance that was unlocked and looked to have been used several times recently, presumably by Meg.

They crept in, then did a quick inspection of the ground floor, which was empty. The center of the factory floor was open to the roof, but around the perimeter of the building there were two more floors of small, office-type rooms. The second story offices were also empty. However, when they reached the top floor, a flickering light beckoned them toward a room on the western corner of the factory.

Out of habit, the hunters cautiously approached the corner room, with Bobby scouting ahead as far as he could. He peered into the lit room, then signaled that it was safe to enter.

As the brothers paused in the doorway, weapons at the ready, they first saw a dusty room, much like the others had been, with indirect early morning sunlight seeping in through dirty windows. There was a metal folding table set up near the windows, adorned with fat candles that emitted wavering light and were arranged precisely around a large, shallow bowl placed in the middle of the table. There were several unidentifiable items lying in the bottom of the bowl, and few others placed off to the side.

More importantly, they also saw Castiel waiting patiently against the wall, still wearing his white uniform from the institution but with his trench-coat pulled on over it. Thankfully Cas, or someone at the institution, had taken the time to clean it.

The angel turned to greet them, looking pleased. His face dimmed as he scrutinized Bobby, however.

"Bobby?" he queried quietly.

"Hey Feathers, good to see you again. Well, I'm all ghosted up now. What's new with you?" Bobby offered awkwardly with a small smile, as the three hunters moved fully into the room.

"Bobby," the angel said sadly. "How did this happen?"

Dean figured Cas didn't need to know the Leviathans involvement in Bobby's untimely demise just now, so he quickly interjected, "He got his ass taken down by a Dick. Then he decided the whole eternal R&R in Heaven thing was for pussies so he'd rather stay here and pester us instead."

Bobby gave a shrug at the angel's dismayed face.

Dean stepped forward and changed the subject, "So, we're all here. Tell me that you've changed your mind about that whole release from this plane crap, and we can hit the road."

"I have changed my mind, Dean," Cas replied.

"Well, thank fucking God for that!" For a moment Dean was taken aback at Castiel's outraged smitey face, but he quickly recovered, flashed a cheeky grin, and continued, "Let's get outta here."

Castiel's head tilted in bewilderment. "I can't go anywhere at this time; I have to perform the ritual."

"What ritual? Dude, you just said you changed your mind!" Dean complained.

"I changed my mind regarding which ritual to perform," Castiel clarified.

Sam asked tentatively, "What's going on, Cas?"

Castiel paused, scowled into empty space, and practically snarled, "No, I will not tell Sam anything from you, Lucifer. That wasn't part of the agreement."

The others recoiled and glanced around in alarm, especially Sam, all feeling foolish the next moment for having forgotten that Cas was not traveling alone these days.

"Too bad, brother. You already agreed to give me a moment to say goodbye to them," Castiel continued in an impervious tone.

"Goodbye? _Just what the hell_ _is going on_?" growled Dean.

Castiel bypassed a detailed explanation. "I don't have much time. It would be best if this is completed before Meg arrives. She arranged this, so it will be the first place she'll look when she is alerted to my departure from the institution." When confronted by three stern, unyielding faces, Castiel gave in and quickly expounded. "The ritual that Lucifer has set up, with Meg's physical assistance, will allow him to fully transfer his grace from the Cage to this vessel."

Dean erupted, "Sonofabitch! Do you know about this yesterday? You said it was just a possibility, and that you'd stop it if that bastard tried."

"Lucifer broached the topic early this morning. He offered reasonable terms, far more reasonable than I anticipated," Castiel replied.

Sam looked horrified. "And what happens to you? What happens to _everyone, _if Lucifer is let loose again?"

"I will end, but this method supposedly will allow me to return and reside in Heaven as would any other departing spirit. As for the other, the universe is already stained with the influence of my brother and his minions, so I don't believe that his actual presence will lead to cataclysm. Particularly since, in return for my agreement to his terms, he has already sworn an oath to limit his activity on the Earth."

"And you believe him?" Dean thundered.

"I do. The oath he made is a sacred vow that literally cannot be violated, known only to my kind. Even fallen angels are subject to its binding," Castiel explained casually.

Sam sputtered, "But, but… what about you?"

"I appreciate your concern, Sam, but I will be fine. You have experienced a little of what my brother is capable; you must understand why I have agreed to this."

"Yeah, but… There has to be another way," Sam said, his face screwed up in thought.

"Perhaps," Castiel added inscrutably. "However, it is nearly time to proceed with the ritual now. First, though, my brother has permitted me a few minutes to say my farewells. You all have been… rather important to me."

With his objective declared, Castiel straightened his slim shoulders, then stepped near Bobby. He seemed at a loss for last words, however, so Bobby just shot him a grim smile and said, "See you later, Cas. If I ever make it upstairs, you'll have to stop by for a drink or twelve, okay?"

"That would be enjoyable," Castiel said wistfully. "I'll do what I can to assist your passage 'upstairs,' once your work here is done."

Bobby rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Yeah, that may take a while. These two idgits need all the help they can get. So, if there's any chance of you getting out of whatever this is…"

Castiel shook his head. "What happens here today must happen. I accept my destiny."

"Well, best of luck to you, then," Bobby finished gruffly.

With a final nod at Bobby, Castiel shifted his attention to Sam. The younger Winchester began to talk swiftly, attempting to reason with the angel. Castiel, however, shook his head gently in negation whenever Sam stopped to take a breath.

Dean just stood there and watched and simmered.

Finally, Sam sighed and rubbed his head, defeated. "I wish you wouldn't be so stubborn about this, Cas. You do realize that Dean and I are not the best role models for sensible behavior, right? You don't have to do this."

Castiel replied earnestly, "I have faith, Sam. Things are not as bleak as you imagine. If things don't go as planned, however, I wish to offer my most sincere apologies for all that occurred before. To all of you," he added, with a lingering look at Dean.

Sam vehemently shook his head. "Water under the bridge, man." At Castiel's puzzled look, he smiled forlornly and clarified, "It's okay, Cas. We've all made mistakes, and often for more selfish reasons. You're square with me, with all of us," he concluded, also shooting a significant look at his older brother.

Castiel gave a faint smile to Sam and moved to stand in front of the eldest Winchester. "Dean, you must not attempt to stop what will happen here today."

"I won't let you die again, Cas. I mean, it's really getting boring," Dean said, aiming for glib and missing it when his voice quivered.

"Please. Trust me, Dean; I know what I'm doing. This is the best option."

"Yeah, I've heard that before," Dean muttered, then felt guilty as Castiel's face darkened with grief. No point cluttering up a goddamn goodbye with outdated recriminations, Dean told himself.

"Please," Castiel repeated.

Dean again had the feeling that Castiel was trying to convey more than the simple words he said. The problem was that he couldn't wrap his head around what was happening and this wasn't a problem that he could fight or shoot, leaving him with no clue what to do.

So, in the end, he went with his gut.

"I trust you, Cas," he offered weakly.

Like a reward, Castiel's eyes lit with bright blue warmth. "As I am trusting you." His face again became solemn. "You won't hinder this ritual? Is it a deal?"

Dean shrugged, puzzled by the angel's doggedness, "Sure, it's a deal."

Castiel nodded to himself, then stepped fully into Dean's personal space. Suddenly Dean felt a pair of warm lips press to his own, simply there at first, then moving softly. He also felt Castiel's hand stroke across his chest, seeming to grope aimlessly near his left pectoral. His jumbled brain collected itself enough to admire Cas' initiative while despairing over his apparent lack of understanding of the physical differences between genders.

After a moment, Castiel slowly pulled away, eying Dean guardedly and awaiting his reaction.

Dean just shook his head, trying to clear it. "Uh, Cas? What was that?"

"We made a deal," Castiel answered, as though the reason should be obvious.

Dean rolled his eyes, then laughed nervously. "Yes, but neither of us are demons. Humans usually just shake hands."

"I see. I shall endeavor to remember that for next time," Castiel stated primly, before turning away.

As Castiel walked back toward the table, Dean noticed the flicker of candlelight on weathered silver in his hand. Before he'd even consciously recognized it as his flask, his hand slipped within his jacket to the left inside pocket where it was normally kept. The pocket was empty, and the flask was now inexplicably in Castiel's hand.

The angel's groping suddenly didn't seem so aimless.

Castiel glanced unperturbed at a vacant space, apparently listening to an unheard voice. He idly opened the flask, poured the contents into the bowl, and replaced the lid without sparing a glance to his efforts.

"I don't believe that my action warrants such amusement, Lucifer. I understand perfectly what I was doing. I believe it's called 'making magic happen'," Castiel spoke, an odd expression almost approaching a smirk on his face.

With his eyes trained on the blank wall, he laid the flask down, grabbed the knife off the table, and sliced a raw line across his palm, then dropped the knife with a clatter onto the floor. Grabbing his injured hand with the other, he squeezed blood out of the cut and into the bowl, then used a finger to swirl the mixture in a complicated pattern, all the while muttering in Enochian. Once the ritual was completed, Castiel picked up the flask in his uninjured hand and displayed it pointedly in front of his own eyes, before tossing it to Dean, who caught it automatically.

"It is often achieved through something called misdirection_,_" Castiel added, finally and deliberately turning his gaze to the bowl on the table.

For a few seconds no-one even breathed.

Suddenly, Castiel almost flinched. "Lucifer, I know that is not the ritual you planned. You failed to notice that I had my own plans." He paused briefly before adding, "Of course I lied to you, brother; you did the same. I recognized the ritual that you intended, and it would not result in a peaceful end for anyone but you." He met Dean's eyes and spoke loudly, as though trying to speak over someone, "You should go now. This process will not be pleasant."

Beyond confused at this point, Dean just numbly shook his head in refusal. Castiel shifted his gaze to Sam, who nodded in understanding and agreement.

Castiel returned his attention to the bowl. The mixture within had begun to sizzle and blaze with a dim red light. Sam gripped Dean's arm and gently attempted to lead him out of the room. Dean's feet, however, were rooted to the floor where he stood.

"Don't you know this invocation, Lucifer? It was created by Raphael as a final punishment for our brother Mattiel, for his ongoing betrayal of Father in support of you."

Sam gave up on decorum as the room filled with cold crimson light and the heavy scent of burning. "Dean, we have to get out of here! C'mon!" he pleaded as he tugged on his brother's arm urgently.

Castiel continued his explanation, "It burns the grace out of an angel, Lucifer. Any and all grace." He paused for a moment, then replied, "No, I truly don't know if I can survive the process. Mattiel didn't, but he was quite weakened at the time. I do know that I would not have survived your plans in any fashion, so it's an acceptable risk. This way, I have a chance of surviving in this vessel, as something akin to human, so that I might continue my work," he added, for the benefit of the trio near the doorway.

As the glow increased to an almost unbearable level in the room, Castiel backed away from the table and wrapped his arms around himself. He sent a commanding look at Sam, silently telling him to take his brother and Bobby and escape the coming shit-storm. As Castiel's expression twisted with agony, he met Dean's gaze for what might be the final time, a dozen conversations that they should have had, needed to have, flickering in the fathomless depths of his eyes.

Their locked gaze was finally broken as Castiel fell to the floor, curling into himself, and Dean was pulled out through the doorway.

-fade to black-


End file.
